Mildly, Summer said, “Jenna Simmons is not an empath. She’s a biochemist. A very good biochemist, but still not an empath.” She shrugged, letting her hands fall to her sides. “It’s fine if you say no.” It wasn’t fine; Fitz was intriguing and she was curious, but pushing would get her nowhere.
He really should have those earplugs, though.
“I’m not saying no,” he whined, “but I don’t have the clearance to say yes.” Fitz hated this game. It’s always why he hated coming to the Helicarrier, even when they were dry docked — he knew people here, they asked questions, ones he couldn’t answer. Hell, most of the time they were forced to land Coulson in the middle of nowhere to keep his return secret. He couldn’t mention Skye, or the fact that Ward was off primary duty, or that they’d taken Melinda May from filings. “I’m quick learning on my feet. Now I know to duck for cover when the artillery strikes start.”
“Ahh.” Now she understood better. Summer fished in her back pocket and showed Fitz the id with her clearance level on it. Level seven. “That help any?”